To Live Again
by whatfangirlwhere
Summary: It was a silly thing, to fear living. But after the night of bloodshed, with all their friends gone, Enjolras and Courfeyrac only wonder why they aren't with them. Enjolras finds a reason in trying to bring back some light to his friend's life, if only just to see him smile again, to give him a reason to keep going.
1. And I Will Be a Revolution

It was a silly thing, to be afraid of living.

At some point in the night, it seemed, almost all of them had simply resigned themselves that death was not just an option, it was their future, inevitable and yet terrifying. Plenty of bottles were passed around, whatever they could conjure up from the once endless stores of Corinthe, and they would laugh and sing and joke as they always had, but even the incorrigible Courfeyrac had no smile in those grey eyes, as he stared down into the deep red wine and saw only blood, splashes on white shirts, on skin, on the cold stone, and he felt sick. Of course they all feared death, indeed they were quite terrified, but Courfeyrac wondered if they understood, truly, what their deaths meant, that death might not be a beginning. It certainly didn't seem that way to him, peering through the barricade only to see bodies, bodies of comrades, people they'd laughed with and planned with. He couldn't tell, in that dim light, which of those belonged to his once friend, a poet who believed in a brighter future,whose ways were quirky and quaint but who loved enough for all of them, although he would always object that was Courfeyrac's job.

And it was, wasn't it? Caring too much, oh, far too much.

His heart would be his downfall, Combeferre had joked before, for he could take the entire city, every gamin and woman of the streets, every beggar in the cold, and take them into his heart that was always filled with such warmth, fight for them to be free. He was the passion, the blood running in the veins of their movement, a source of warmth that others could gravitate towards, their center. It was his heart, too, that almost killed him, so many times on that fateful night, once when he moved his head up too high, in search of a friend, another when he moved out after the child that he had held so dear, so innocent and bright, and it was that moment that he realized the true fear that always comes with death, that cripples you until you cannot breathe. Enjolras and Combeferre had held him back, in his desperation he fought so hard to save him, save this child or he was worth nothing, his ideals and hopes and dreams, but he could not save even a child.

But it was not a warm heart that would save him.

It was coincidence, or so he thought, that Enjolras had ended up at his side. They should have been in the cafe, he felt they were meant to be there, a final stand, but then Courfeyrac felt a pain in his side and a cry left his lips unbidden, in panic or pain or terror he was not entirely sure. Enjolras turned, and for a moment Courfeyrac saw that he too was afraid, as he watched him freeze, a hand going down to his side, coming away scarlet.

"Well, how about that?" He breathed, laughter on the verge of hysterics, or perhaps shock, but he didn't anticipate Enjolras turning back, stepping forward and raising his pistol, using what Courfeyrac knew was his last shot, taking out the man who had bayonetted him. Courfeyrac managed to remain standing by some miracle, and he laughed weakly as the gunshots and cries around him seemed to fade.

"This is a rather awful way to go, isn't it?" He said, and he heard Combeferre's outcry from the door of the cafe, urging Enjolras to come inside, to grab him and go, until he saw the dark stain on Courfeyrac's grey vest, and they locked gazes one final time, and Courfeyrac wished he had the strength to shout something, perhaps a "goodbye" of sorts. However, at that moment his body betrayed him, knees giving out from under him, but he landed not on the torn up streets, but against something warm, tangible, and he blinked, and as he looked up it was as if Enjolras' hair was a halo in the dawn light, and he laughed.

"Alas, forgive me, Apollo, I have ruined your magnificent execution." He murmured, and he could've sworn he saw the other's lips twitch at the name, shaking his head despite the noise around them, the gunshots and screams piercing the air.

"It is sure to happen yet, my friend. But come, you will not die of this, it's but a flesh wound."

"'fraid you think too much of me, for I am a coward in the face of death." Courfeyrac replied, keeping his voice light and strong, he wouldn't falter not even in the end. His hands, however, betrayed him, trembling as the cane-sword he'd been using clattered to the ground. Enjolras looked grim, and Courfeyrac could see his glance moving down to the wound, instinctively covering it and pressing down, a strangled whimper escaping the dark-haired boy's lips, but it trailed off into forced laughter.

"Go, fearless leader, I won't deny you your last stand."

"Courfeyrac-"

"Go, please-_pro patria, _remember?" he whispered, reaching up with what strength he could muster and taking Enjolras' hand, squeezing it with a weak smile. He knew Enjolras would agree, it was what they had decided to do, if they would die they would do so facing their foes, fighting to the last man to prove-prove what exactly? He wasn't entirely sure anymore, for the people that had not risen? His thoughts were vague, now, jumbled, and all he saw was this angel, this god of hope above him.

Enjolras looked around them, at the bodies of their friends, the door they'd blocked and all he could hear was muffled shouts and gunshots, but he knew that it would be over soon. Somehow, in their little corner of the world, no one had disturbed them. However, just as the thought crossed his mind he saw a soldier coming toward them, the same who had been shouting orders with a tremble in his voice. He held his musket high, pointing at them, but Enjolras could see an uneasiness in the way he walked, and he raised his gaze to look at him instead of the friend in his lap, breathing choppy and accompanied now by little whines of pain as Enjolras shifted to sit straight, but he kept his hand in his own, knowing it would be a comfort to him.

"Give yourselves to us, cease this pointless bloodshed." The man said, expression grim, but he looked almost as young as they were and Enjolras wondered if he simply wanted it to be over, to stop killing.

"You could have ended it before it began, before you senselessly slaughtered one of our own, and then the others. The time for talking is over." He said coolly, it should've been different but it was if something had changed, having the warmth and light of the group in his lap bleeding out, and all for nothing. The people had not risen, the people they had been fighting for, and now they would pay the price, and he could only hope to serve as an example. He heard a weak, pained chuckle from Courfeyrac as the Lieutenant raised his musket higher.

"Looks like I did not deny you your execution in the end, dear friend."

"Hush." Was all Enjolras uttered, staring up into the barrel of the gun, his gaze full of what he always held, defiance, determination, a pure optimism and hope for a better world, even by his death. He held Courfeyrac's hand, feeling the other's trembling, despite his strong words he was getting weaker and he was afraid, he knew, because it was the same fear in his own heart. The Lieutenant pointed his gun, his finger on the trigger, but there was something about the way Enjolras looked at him, holding a bleeding man in his lap that had surely been laughing and drinking with the best of them, and he faltered.

"Go." He finally said, gritting his teeth, lowering his weapon, and Enjolras didn't understand, it didn't make sense to him for this man to let them go, not in this sea of blood and horror, it didn't make sense that he, the cause and the leader, to be allowed to go.

"But-"

"I will say it once more-go, there are places that will shelter you. If you are caught, I will not tell them to spare your lives, for there is surely an execution waiting for you already, but I'm giving you a chance."

"Just answer me one thing-" Enjolras cut off at the sound of a volley from the café, and he winced, but his expression remained strong. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I am giving you a chance, to you and this boy." The man said, pulling a small pistol out of his coat and setting it on the ground. "A slim chance, unlawful and not right for me to make, but there is something here that stays my hand, now go! Others will discover you yet."

He turned and moved away, likely to bark more orders or shoot more innocent insurgents, but Enjolras remained frozen for a little while, scarcely willing to believe what had happened, but he was drawn back to the moment by Courfeyrac's grip going slack. His heart stuttered in a panic he didn't hold himself to having, looking down, but he was breathing, it was shallow and harsh but it was enough. He grabbed the gun and then stood, keeping an arm around the slightly larger man's waist, dark curls tickling his neck as he tried to keep him upright, there was no way he could carry him fully, for all his grace Enjolras had too small a stature. He was able to move, albeit slowly, although he didn't know where to go he knew that at least away from that corner, from the barricade, they slipped out through the little back street, his heartbeat thrummed in his eardrums but he couldn't allow fear or panic to overtake him, he had one single chance to save a life, at least one, and he would take it.

Enjolras went down the twisting roads, trying to make sure they would not be caught, he ran into only a handful of soldiers but he was quick to fire, the tense night had sharpened his nerves, and finally all was quiet but the staccato of Courfeyrac's breath, which he feared only grew softer. He needed a shelter, somewhere they would be safe, and finally ended up at a small church. How ironic, he would think later, the man who believed only in his beloved Patria, turning to god in this final hour of desperation. He knocked on the door, slumping against the frame in his exhaustion, although he would not beg for the grace he wasn't entirely sure they deserved he would knock for a whole minute, until the handle turned and he was greeted with the face of a young priest, who looked startled by the sight before him.

"Monsieurs, may we help you?"

"My friend was gravely injured, at the barricade at Rue de la Chanvrerie, I know it is much to ask but we need shelter, and a doctor if we may. Please, Father, I fear he doesn't have long, we have walked too long."

The priest looked at them, a bit frightened when he saw the dark stain under Enjolras' hand, his hand lingering on the knob of the door as if he was debating whether to shut it in their faces, but he then nodded and opened it wide for them, nodding.

"Come in, I shall send for the doctor immediately. You will have rest here, for the Politics of the world have no bearing here."

"Thank you, thank you, for your kindness." Enjolras murmured, bowing his head, he would never have let himself get so desperate but there was a life in his hands, and he wanted to believe that even if he was captured, locked away or presented to a firing squad as an example, at least this one bright light would not go out.

oOoOoOo

_A/N: Hello! This is a new story I'm starting, obviously it's centered on these two, I know this idea is overdone but I have a lot of things I've been wanting to do with this idea so bear with me. It'll be a mix of book/musical canon, although probably more of book/my own headcanons so hopefully you guys stick with me! I'll try to actually update c:_


	2. Knowing That Faith is All I Hold

"You should rest, Monsieur."

Enjolras didn't look up, folded into a chair in the small infirmary at the rectory behind the church, he refused to even be looked over or leave the room until he was sure that it had not been in vain, that he had not forstalled his death for the sake of the people for nothing. Courfeyrac had to live, for that was why he had gone away, for that slim hope that perhaps he could survive this, that he could live even when their friends could not. He didn't know what happened after they had gone, did not know if anyone had been taken prisoner or survived, although he knew there was little chance of either. He prided himself on his ability to keep calm, his love and passion for _Patria _kept him grounded, it was his driving force. But somehow that had been knocked out of balance, watching their friends be slain like they were animals, when in fact he knew them as they had been in life, schoolboys whose problems ranged from the injustice of the bourgeoisie to the simplicity of a bad hair day. Courfeyrac would have a fit, he knew, at the current state of his beloved curls, which he would always keep so neat, his clothing cut just right and in the latest fashions. But now he lay on the small bed, normally rosy cheeks ashen and curl awry, framing his face in a way that only served to make him look paler. The head priest of the church, who had stepped into the room, sighed and shaking his head.

"Monsier Enjolras, please, you must rest for now. He won't awaken for a while, the Doctor had to give him enough Laudanum to have him out all night, his injuries were serious and he must be kept still, and we fear he will react badly."

"You mean to the news that all of his friends are no longer with us?" Enjolras murmured, his tone wasn't sad simply resigned, his mind had been a mess since he had gotten there, but his countenance remained unchanged, cool and calm. He hadn't left the room, though, although eve he couldn't entirely explain why, he couldn't bring himself to leave it until his friend's eyes opened again, until he was certain. He never held himself to sentiment, but he knew of the loyalty of his friends and he thought perhaps he too shared it, he had always put his full faith in them, in Combeferre's wisdom, Jehan's way with words, young Feuilly's always paint covered hands, even Grantaire's cynicism…all gone now, he knew, all of those things were gone for good, but he couldn't feel anything more than a slight pang of loss. Perhaps it was shock, although he didn't attribute himself to such a thing.

"Yes, Monsieur, as well as how bad his condition is. He had a few injuries aside from the main one, it will take faith to make it through this night, and the next, but you are no good to him dead on your feet-ah, I apologize." He added at the slight wince Enjolras couldn't fully hide. "I know that was I poor taste, I didn't think. Now come, Father Altier has prepared a room for you, at least a bed and bowl to wash. Don't worry, your companion is safe under our roof."

Enjolras' mouth opened, as if to speak, but then he glanced back at Courfeyrac's still form and he closed it, nodding as he forced himself to his feet, wobbling only slightly but he kept his composure, brushing away the Father's offered hand.

"Thank you, Father, you will-"

"If he awakens, I will send one of the Fathers, I promise you." He said softly, and Enjolras nodded, making his way out of the room to where the priest who had let them in was waiting to lead him to his room, both of them silent. He murmured quiet thank you before he closed the door, the room was sparse with only a bed and a bowl of water just as the Head Priest had said there would be, he was too exhausted to clean off but he knew he must, the blood dried on him from his friends, the other students, as well as the grime and sweat as a testament to the long night. He took the cloth, stripping off his jacket, followed by his once white shirt, grimacing at the dark stains on it, it hadn't quite set in that everyone was gone, even as he slowly scrubbed himself off, the water turning pink. Enjolras noticed a white nightshirt that had been laid on the bed, slipping it on before he crawled into bed, thinking he wouldn't sleep easy but he was out the moment his head hit the pillow

oOoOoOo

"Monsieur! Monsieur!"

Enjolras startled awake when someone shook his shoulder, sitting upright, causing the young Father (Altier, he remembered) to jump back, looking a bit nervous.

"Monsieur, please, I would ask you to come with me, your friend is awake but we believe your presence is needed."

Enjolras didn't say anything, but he got up out of bed immediately, heading out down the hall where he had come from earlier, hearing a loud shout that almost seemed like a more strangled cry, and he recognized the voice, he knew it well, he'd heard him shouting so many times at meetings, to further their cause, he had a loud and clear voice that had captured the attentions of everyone around them. But this, this was different, this was pained and desperate and he found himself moving a bit faster despite the exhaustion seeped in his bones. When he got to the room and opened the door he saw his friend laying there, but his eyes were open-wide open, panicked almost, and he was struggling, the Doctor trying to hold him down. Enjolras moved forward without a word, going to the side of the bed, taking his hand.

"Courfeyrac, you need to calm, you're going to hurt yourself-"

"No! No, we have to get away, Enjolras, they're going to kill us too! Where's….'Ferre, got to go to the café, got to stand up to 'em, can't give up, Enjolras, keep fighting!"

"Courfeyrac, hush, you're not there, not anymore." Enjolras said calmly, squeezing his hand, the terror in his eyes, but it was like he didn't even see him, not really, he was still there behind that barricade in his mind. Enjolras had never witnessed something like this before, the feverish imaginings of a traumatised man, and he was shaken, concerned and confused, this wasn't like his friend at all.

"No! No, they…I see them, they're here, Enjolras, they're here!" He cried, and Enjolras moved his hands to his shoulders, pushing him back down against the pillows, seeing the red seeping through the bandages on his stomach.

"They aren't, Courfeyrac, I'm sorry…I'm sorry, my friend, but they are not here, they are dead, or at least we must assume so. You are safe, here, with the Fathers, they won't bring you any harm."

"Fathers….church?" Courfeyrac's body relaxed slightly, much to Enjolras' relief, his grey eyes still a little unfocused, his chest heaving, and when he looked up at Enjolras he could see the sweat beading on his brow, and he looked at the Doctor before he looked back at him, gently pushing him against the pillows more.

"Yes, Courfeyrac, it was the only place I could think of for shelter, the streets are not safe for us right now. You were hurt, do you remember anything?" He said, wishing he could sound less cool, less detached, but he wanted to know how bad things were, even if he didn't show it Courfeyrac's outburst had startled him and judging by the look on the doctor's face it was worrying.

"I remember…blood, lots of it, in my bottle-or no, perhaps that was wine, and Jehan and…and 'Ferre, he looked at me, when I was shot-no not shot, was I? Oh, I don't know, my mind, you see, it's all a jumble."

"At least your tongue hasn't suffered any injury." Enjolras murmured, although his lips didn't turn even the slightest bit upward, Courfeyrac slight delusion wasn't a good sign, nor was the fever, and he feared the Doctor knew that too. Courfeyrac just laughed, a weak sham of his normal boisterous laughter.

"It's the only thing I have, I-I'm afraid." He told him, and Enjolras just squeezed his hand, shaking his head.

"You must rest, Courfeyrac, you will only aggravate your injuries more."

"And what's the worst that'll happen, eh? I suppose I…I die then, huh, wasn't meant to live this long anyway."

"Don't speak like that, my child." Enjolras looked up, he hadn't noticed the Head priest had come into the room, standing in the doorway and watching them. He stepped inside more, hands tucked inside his sleeves as he looked at the young man on the bed. "You are but a child, if you are here it means that God did not mean for you to die just yet."

"Thanks, Father, but I don't think he means for me to live very much longer." Courferyac said, a tremble in his voice, and Enjolras shook his head, touching his fever flushed cheek and telling him sternly.

"Courfeyrac, rest, and don't speak like that again, do you understand? Doctor, can you..?" He left the question trail off, knowing that Courfeyrac would object if he knew, but the Doctor nodding and grabbed the little bottle from the table, popping out the cork.

"I'm going to give you more, Monsieur, you need to rest or you will tear open the stitches."

"Doc, please, I'm afraid I don't do those kinds of drugs." Courfeyrac said, looking alarmed, he didn't like being sedated, and perhaps more than a little afraid of falling asleep right then, and Enjolras seemed to garner at least a bit of that meaning from his expression.

"Hush, friend, it will be alright-"

"No! Don't you tell me that!" Courfeyrac said, starting to look panicked again, and Enjolras steeled himself to hold him down again, the fever had him in a bit of hysterics, and he started thrashing again. "I should've been there, with them, I-I didn't ask for you to take me away! We were supposed to be an example, supposed to change things, why am I here?"

"Courfeyrac st-"

"Why did you save me?" He cried, and Enjolras grit his teeth, pinning him to the small bed as best he could, but the other boy was stronger than he was by a long shot.

"Nicolas Courfeyrac, stop this! You're only hurting yourself."

"Let me go! Enjolras!"

"Nicolas, stop!" Enjolras yelled, and the use of his first name from Enjolras, who never held himself to any such informalities, was enough to startles him into calming, if not only briefly. Long enough for the Doctor get close, making him swallow at least a spoonful of the laudanum, which Courfeyrac swallowed on reflex, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he slowly calmed, blinking his eyes slowly as he looked at Enjolras, reaching one hand up and it brushed against his cheek before falling back to his side.

"You…dear Apollo, you are an angel."

"I have told you not to call me that, Courfeyrac." Enjolras said quietly, but his friend was already unconscious once more, and Enjolras sighed lightly, sitting back again, relaxing his grip. The Doctor looked over Courfeyrac quickly, making sure he hadn't done too much damage, Enjolras simply watching, his mind a bit dazed at what had just happened, he had not anticipated such a violent reaction from his friend, even with all that had happened. He still didn't quite understand himself why he had taken his friend, why he hadn't just stayed to stand with their friends, that they would all stand together until the end. But he had seen a chance, he thought to himself as he watched the Doctor dab at Courfeyrac's forehead with a cool cloth, to at least have a little bit of hope, to save someone so that their light would live on. He didn't want to dwell on it, to think about himself, why he was still there when his friends were not, friends whose deaths could have been prevented but they had followed him on blind faith. Courfeyrac, too, had believed in him, had shone so brightly for the cause that they had fought and died for, but here he was now wishing that his light had been snuffed out instead, and Enjolras couldn't quite make sense of it. He felt their loss, of course, like a lead weight in his heart, but he knew that Courfeyrac felt everything in much greater magnitude than he could ever comprehend, Combeferre had always said he had a heart big enough to love the whole world, Enjolras would sometimes ask him for advice on what type of things to say that would rouse the people, for Courfeyrac understood them. He had been the one who introduced Feuilly to their group, a young gamin then, off the streets, malnourished and weak, but Courfeyrac had taken him under his wing and made sure he was healthy and provided for, but understood when he wanted to fend for himself as well. He was always the one who would talk with Gavroche, not even always about matters of the republic but simply chatting with him-and of course, his heart that shattered when the boy was shot, and Enjolras wondered if perhaps that was the breaking point for him. An innocent child, that he had cherished so dearly, after the loss of so many of their dear friends, especially Combeferre, with whom he had been closest to, since they were children. He too felt that loss the most heavily, and he frowned when he felt something on his cheek, bringing a hand up to brush it away, fingers coming away wet, and he realized he was crying, and he wondered if perhaps he wasn't quite as abject to their loss as he thought himself to be.

"Monsieur?"

He started, looking over at the Doctor, who had been conferring with the priest briefly, swiping his fingers across his cheek quickly before he nodded.

"Yes, what is it?"

"We have been discussing your friend's condition, and I'm afraid there is only so much I can do for him, at this stage. He has a high fever, and he is bleeding through his stiches already. He has lost a fair amount of blood, and I fear there might be an infection setting in. It's not looking all too hopeful, I'm afraid."

Enjolras simply nodded, it was the same way Combeferre used to talk, clinical and precise, stating the facts that were undeniable, and he wished then for Courfeyrac's witty remark that would usually follow, to make everything feel less clear cut and provide that little glimmer of hope.

"But he has a chance still." He said, and it was not a question, it was if he was stating it to reaffirm it to himself. The Doctor glanced at him, into those blue eyes whose fire was undimmed even by the failure of the insurrection, the loss of his friends, because he still had that one single ray of hope.

"Perhaps, yes, there is still a chance."

oOoOoOo

"Sir?"

The Lieutenant who had been in charge of leading the assault against the barricade turned to looked at the soldier, nodding to him.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Sir, we have reports that the known leader of this barricade is missing."

"Is he now?" The Lieutenant murmured, knowing full well that this was true, for he had insured the boy wasn't. It had been warring in his mind all that day, as the blood was cleaned from the streets and the bodies lined up in the café as if to be a warning. He glanced down at them now, a furrow in his brow-not a single one of them old enough to even be out of college yet, school boys, not yet married even, and he remembered seeing some of them at cafes before. Not even rousing trouble, simple with one or two friends having a drink and laughing, playing games of dominoes or lamenting exams or some such. They'd even played games together or had a drink before, perhaps not with these exact students, but similar, and that left an unpleasant feeling in his gut and he had to turn away.

"Perhaps you are mistaken, he may have simply been picked up to be buried already. He was from a wealthy family."

"But I have heard they wanted nothing to do with him, sir." The young soldier said, looking at him, and he thought the young man looked a bit green himself, and he nodded.

"Perhaps, but don't always listen to what you hear-now, you weren't there, were you? I heard you had arrived late, just gotten in to Paris."

"Ah, that is correct, sir." The young soldier said, swallowing thickly and nodding, and the Lieutenant felt pity in his heart. The boy couldn't have been older than twenty, with fair skin and black curls that stuck out around his helmet, and cool grey eyes that struck something in his memory, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Well, then listen to me-this matter is concluded, at least for our part. If the government decides to pursue those who might have got away-which I doubt there are any-" He took a deep breath, still seeing the images if he closed his eyes, a young child smiling as he died, a determined young face full of fear as he stared down a firing squad, a young man determined to blow himself up if it meant keeping his friends safe. "-then we shall leave that to them. But come, let's leave this place, I have seen quite enough of death."

The other soldier lingered for a moment, glancing down at the line of bodies, almost searching it seemed, but then he followed him out, his eyes solemn but there was almost a hint of relief on his face.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Second chapter, woohoo! I have a bunch of plans for this story so I plan on keeping it going, however I have a few other things to update too so bear with me! Please review, it would mean a whole lot to me!


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